


I've Seen the World.

by fearless_seas



Series: Young and Beautiful. [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander's past is sad, Family accuracy, M/M, Thomas has had bad expiriences, Thomas is scared of getting close to people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:31:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearless_seas/pseuds/fearless_seas
Summary: Alexander Hamilton thought he had seen the world, until he met Thomas Jefferson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've listen to lot of Lana Del Rey, especially when I miss my Dad. He loved Lana Del Rey. I thought of this a while ago, definitely not how I thought it would turn out but I can't wait to right the next part of this.

_ I've seen the world _

_ Done it all _

_ Had my cake now _

_ Diamonds, brilliant _

_ And Bel Air now _

         Alexander Hamilton had thought he’d seen the world, until he met Thomas Jefferson. Alexander’s past was not one he took lightly, there was a courageous amount of trust placed at the hands of individual to be able to pass along the feed of knowledge to another being. He was a loud mouth bother, couldn’t keep his mouth shut. The words flowing nimble at unrecognizable paces past his paper thin lips. He never stopped to wonder if anyone could understand him, a dull threaten in the base of his heart knocked advised him to remiss down. 

         Nobody stayed in his life. His own parents seeping past his languid fingertips like sand. His father left when he was ten, leaving only a lone address, but every time Alexander’s brilliance laced fragmented ideas into his cranium, a pen found it’s way slithering into his appendages. The words falling out of his brain in clumps, those words, sealed into a cracked envelope with large letter addressed to Mr. James Hamilton Sr., funny how those letter always were returned back to him just as fast as they were written with large, red stamps imprinted on the tops-  _ To be returned to sender _ . Adolescent anger bit him, and he would rip the envelope into a thousand piece, dismissing it onto the floor. Longing ached, he wished too eagerly that he had kept those letter. Feed of his accomplishments. 

         Mother taken faster than comprehension abled. The fever heated the two, stringing them like glue together. The isolation and the desperation, his older brother’s feeble hands spooning soup to the two who lay in a mess, clinging to one another like life itself. Until one day, Alexander’s eyes peeked open to find sunlight slicing through the jarred curtains, a smile making it’s way to his young visage. He sat up, his Mother’s arms abatement off of his body like nullity, too transparent and Alexander saw past it like glass. His mild simper flattened. 

         Hercules always boasted of his first dead body, as if it was nothing, just another simplistic past inauguration. Fourteen, and the body of a construction worker lay buried in the bushes at the back of "dead cross" creek, he mediated that he knew it like the back of his hand. Nobody seemed to notice how Alexander always grew gradual, chewing off mindlessly, not paying attention and for once keeping his mouth shut. It was his own private moment, one nobody else would ever experience that he knew. 

         His mother was so cold, she always complained that Alexander’s hands were too bitter, she’d blow hot air on them to warm them, even though they were in the heat of the Caribbean. In that juncture, feeling anything else but childish, he blew on his Mother’s hands; she did not wake. He continued to gust onto her hands, the pale skin and dull veins popping out even as the tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, he continued to blow on her hands even as James’s own smile fell from it’s height, he continued to blow on her hands even as James shook her from where she was lying, he continued to blow on her hands as the paramedics slipped exaggerated into the room. They striped him away from her, and he kicked and screamed into the hallway, _"You fuckers! You're killing her! You're killing her! Let me warm her!"._ His brother stood panicked across the room holding him back, _"James! LET GO!"_

         James acted as his elder self, dropped out of school to pay the income and Alexander lay in his bed mumbling nonsense to himself, “She was so cold, she was so cold”. He pretended not to hear the doctors whispering, “He may have exhibited some... from trauma from the event”, James bit a lip in anxiety, “Will he ever be the same?”, Alexander rolled over to hide himself from the reply, camouflaging himself from the fate. He pretended not to hear James's silent crying in the kitchen at night, he pretended not to hear the mutters underneath his breath as his brother pressed a cold rag to his warm forehead. He pretended to hear anything but his own comprehensions, and his own voice, his own broodings. 

         When his cousin committed suicide he did not experience vexation, _I still have James_. He was better, he was only fourteen and already identifying his second dead body. The shotgun lay faltered next to the wooden stool and a pool of crimson trickled onto the floor, dying the dusty tiles with . Alexander didn't scream, but petrified as James shoved him out of the way. _"A-Alex- go get help"_ , he did not move from the spot, his feet melted with the consecrated tears of two. Watching the two fingers pressed underneath Peter's white neck. _"Alex GO!",_ he ran at those words, and once again he didn't have a home. \

          Those rationalizations, lies feeding into himself as he trailed James driving down the jumpy cobblestone street in the back of a blue Chevy. He cried that day, hardened by the blood splatter painting a dotted canvass on the pealing paint above the headboard of his bed, hardened by his brother’s hastened whisper into his eardrum,  _ “Don’t forget me, baby brother” _ . Alexander often wondered if James had forgotten him. 

         He worked hard to get where he was now, he struggled non-stop to build himself onto the power of knowledge he had accumulated into his comprehension. There was not a day in Alexander James Hamilton’s life that did not forage back to his main plot, _work, work work,_ mind screaming as the scars and blisters ripped open the flesh on his palms.  His middle name was a haunting, a haunting of his Father who never gave a damn, a haunting of his brother who he was forced to abandon, a ghost of previous lost, a loom of despair. Peeking cautiously back on his own deliverance, you could see a careful trace of words in his writing. The characters he had created all leading back to the bold image of his brother. This illustration forever burned, pressed into his pondering youthful ignorance. 

         Alexander seemed to believe everybody was perfect, except for himself. John with his freckles like stars in the night sky, Lafayette was a sassy reminder to the good things of life, to Alexander there were none. Hercules, the creative brink of demolition. He was never afraid to share his work, and Alexander was in contrast, a hider of his private work. He flaunted everything else of course, it was just who he was. Accomplishments were everything, you had to fight, scream your way to the top. 

         Thomas Jefferson didn’t scream his way to the top. How could a man so silent make it this far? It was why he initially believed it was only his money- it wasn't. They were complete, slaughtered opposites, piece together their personalities inch by inch and similarities would be found. They used to hide this idea, Lafayette shook his head in pity at their lies. But now, as Alexander’s head lay rested, nestled in underneath the column Thomas’s neck, he held the whole world right before front of him. Thomas’s bare chest peacefully floated up and then down, in that moment, watching his long, thick eyelashes flutter, twitching in contrast on his dark skin, Alexander couldn’t believe he had him. 

         He traced a seldom finger along the surface of skin of his chest and watched mindlessly through the darkness, smothering around the two. Thomas, still stolen by sleep kept an arm wrapped in iron around his waist, holding close as if he was never going to let go. Alexander knew in the cavity of his chest, the heart that was just too big for his 5’7 form pulsated with fluttering butterflies at the amorous sight. 

         He watched for several minutes, considering that maybe he would wake up and Thomas would be gone. But it was Thomas who was hesitant about the relationship, hesitant to form another bond. _“Everyone I touch dies”,_ tearfully spoken hours ago as he collapsed to the ground, “ _I don’t want you to die- Alexander you can't die. You are so much better than me”._ Alexander without hesitation, in a spur embittered a finger over and traced the tear stains etched into his cheeks, glowing in the night air, reminders of how hurt Thomas was, how broken they both were, _how hadn't he seen it before?_

        It wasn’t until Thomas conveyed those words that he consummated himself, _everybody Alexander touches is gone_. The naked touch of his chest, draped across the taller man underneath him as the immigrant lay crossed on the bed watching the darkened sky turn to red with the rising sun. He was embracing him right now, but Thomas did not move, he did not leave. The hand pressed across his body clutching him close, never letting go. 

         _“Thomas, I’m not going to die”, his hand snaking it’s way rubbing circles into his back._

         _“You are, and I’m- I’m going to be alone again”, his chin quivered and bit in the inner flesh of his cheek to stop the tears from draining. “My father died-”_

          _“Thomas, your father was a drunk and he beat you- he deserved it” Alexander cut him off, and Thomas drew another shaky breath through open lips but did not respond._ He was a man of few words, but those few words, oh sweet, they burned into Alexander’s throat like tough whiskey. Thomas’s lips were an addiction, no matter how many times he thought he was sober they slipped their way down his tongue, swallowing them whole. A place saved special in his full heart. 

         Alexander knew in his heart, Thomas could not leave. Alexander thought he saw the world before he met Thomas Jefferson. Alexander now held the world in his gaze. He blinked, another glance before repealing his eyelids, peaking through the cracks and settling his head underneath Thomas’s chin, wrapping his arms around his neck and curling his bare legs closer to Thomas’s stomach. 

         And for the first time in forever- Alexander Hamilton _slept_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Everything about Alexander's past and family is true, as well as Thomas's. Tell me what you think! Definitely excited about this quick little series. Hope you guys enjoy. Kudos, and comments are highly appreciated. My Tumblr is @sonofhistory, hit me up.


End file.
